


let the bodies hit the floor

by paroxysmalirony



Series: help! there's an fbi agent in my camera! [1]
Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Federal Agents, Corpses, Doyoung is an analyst for the FBI, Humor, I Don't Even Know, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Yuta is an assassin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-19
Updated: 2017-02-19
Packaged: 2018-09-25 12:47:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9821117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paroxysmalirony/pseuds/paroxysmalirony
Summary: But Dongyoung doesn’t live in an alternate universe. He lives in this one, where his boyfriend is a government hired assassin with a knack for breaking into his home and storing stinky bodies in the middle of his kitchen floor.





	

**Author's Note:**

> hey friends,
> 
> I really really felt like writing something so I found this weird sentence prompt on tumblr ("You need to stop leaving dead bodies in my kitchen.") which became this right here. It ain't the best and it's also unedited so like yeah...
> 
> title is from bodies by drowning pool
> 
> enjoy :)))

Dongyoung wakes up in the middle of the night with the sudden urge to pee. He lies in the darkness of his bedroom for at least five minutes, debating whether or not leaving behind the warmth of his very expensive duvet is even worth it. But when the familiar pressure in his bladder comes to be far too much to handle, especially at 4:30 in the goddamned morning, he peels away the navy blue blanket with an eagerness comparable to that of a 5 year old child’s and quite literally springs out of bed.

The journey to his bathroom is clumsy and takes far longer than he’d like to admit. Dongyoung fumbles blindly in the darkness, nearly knocking over the table on which the urn that holds the ashes of his late bengal cat.

“Sorry Jisoo,” he hisses as he rights the urn, its steel surface cool to the touch, before setting off once more to the bathroom at the end of the hallway.

Dongyoung can’t hold back the lively sound of absolute relief that forces its way out of his trachea once he finishes relieving himself. For a moment, he’s glad that he lives alone, for if he still lived with that anal retentive douchebag, Taeyong, he’s sure an argument would have ensued.

The words “ _Do you really need to be so dramatic whenever you pee_?” ring throughout his head in the engineer’s voice as he flushes.

“Fuck you, Tae,” Dongyoung rasps as he sleepily crosses the distance that separates the toilet from the vanity. “I’ll pee how I want to pee.”

Dongyoung’s eyes have yet to adjust to the pitch black that surrounds him, so it’s with blind faith in his spatial intelligence that he washes his hands. He can feel droplets of water hit his feet as he does so, informing him that he could be doing a better job of keeping the soapy water  _inside_ the sink.

An alert Dongyoung would have taken some time to wipe away the water that slowly begins to pool at his naked feet, but this Dongyoung is _tired_ and would rather be sinking in his silk sheets, dreaming the night away before waking up for another day in the life of fighting white collar crime (in the safety of his cubicle at the HQ building, of course).

The agent hobbles back into the hallway, pulling the bathroom door shut with his foot. His feet pad along the hardwood floor, echoing slightly in the otherwise silent bungalow.

For a brief moment, Dongyoung is overcome with the need for a glass of water.

It’s almost comforting, he thinks, the way he manages to find himself in his spacious kitchen with a coffee mug filled to the brim with filtered tap water. It’s almost comforting, for he finds himself at peace as he sips away at the clear liquid, moonlight streaming into the room through a crack in the blinds in the midst of a week such as the one he’s been having (it’s hard enough being an analyst for the FBI, but being an analyst for the FBI when millions in taxpayer dollars has gone missing without a trace is absolute _Hell_ ). It’s _almost_ comforting because as hard as he tries, Dongyoung can’t find it in himself to ignore the corpse of a man that lies atop a sheet of plastic on the tiled flooring of his kitchen floor.

Dongyoung sighs, bringing a hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose.

 _Don’t freak out_ , he thinks to himself, trying his hardest not to be bothered by the gaping bullet hole that sits between the dead man’s eyes. _It’ll be gone in the morning._

So Dongyoung finishes his water and rushes back to bed, leaving the body behind. It’s easier to pretend that he hasn’t seen or heard anything that way, anyways.

 

 

 

As expected, the body is gone when morning arrives.

As expected, in its place sits a meticulously folded sheet of paper.

As expected, Dongyoung can’t help the fond smile that tugs at the corner of his lips as he reads the contents of the note.

 

_Dons,_

_Thanks for helping me out with the storage again. The Government of the United States of America thanks you for your cooperation._

_Love,_

_Yuta ‘Big Daddy’ Nakamoto_

_PS: You look so cute when you’re sleepy_ _♡＼(￣▽￣)／♡_

 

Dongyoung rolls his eyes and tucks the letter into the inner pocket of his jacket and heads off to work.

 

 

 

The first time Yuta stored a body in the middle of Dongyoung’s kitchen happened within two weeks of their relationship. The analyst had just arrived from a long day of playing Faerie Bubbles at work (it was a slow week, sue him) to find Yuta in the process of swaddling one of three very dead bodies in what looked like some heavy duty type of Saran Wrap.

Dongyoung rarely uses the concealed weapon he wears on his person, but he doesn’t think he’s ever pulled a gun on someone as quickly as he did on Yuta that day.

The man was unfazed, as always, and simply moved onto the next.

“What are you doing?” Dongyoung had screeched, carefully taking a step closer to the man. “That’s disgusting!”

“You seem to be forgetting that I’m an assassin,” Yuta had chuckled, looking up at Dongyoung. “This is my thing.”

“Yeah, but…” Dongyoung faltered, lowering the gun. “Why _my_ kitchen, of all places?”

“I missed you,” Yuta shrugged, slashing at the plastic wrap with an exacto knife.

Dongyoung remembers the way his cheeks heated up as he holstered his gun and went about his business.

From that moment on, it became an arrangement of theirs: Yuta stopping by at random hours throughout the day to store the bodies of his ordered victims. Sometimes, the corpses wait around in Dongyoung’s kitchen for hours as Yuta plans out the details for disposal (Dongyoung dreads those instances). And sometimes, they’re gone as soon as they’re bundled in layer after layer of industrial plastic, giving the couple more time to fool around and catch up (it’s a crazy industry they’re in, so they rarely see each other. It’s a bummer, but the sex is _phenomenal_ ).

Either way, it’s always followed by a quick visit from the CIA’s local cleanup team led by one Johnny Seo, and Dongyoung’s kitchen is left spotless.

Dongyoung can’t say the same for his silk sheets.

 

 

 

There are some times where Dongyoung finds himself really wishing he’d never agreed to their little arrangement in the first place. He likes to think that his life would be a thousand times easier if Yuta made use of the countless properties provided by the government to carry out his missions _without_ filling Dongyoung’s kitchen with the smell of freshly assassinated bodies. In fact, there is probably an alternate universe out there in which Dongyoung never has to carefully step over the lifeless body of a public enemy when all he really wants to do is grab the jug of milk out of the fridge for his bowl of cereal.

But Dongyoung doesn’t live in an alternate universe. He lives in this one, where his boyfriend is a government hired assassin with a knack for breaking into his home and storing stinky bodies in the middle of his kitchen floor.

Mark Lee and his weak stomach aren’t really helping the cause, either.

It goes like this.

Dongyoung walks into his home one afternoon with his protégé and analyst in training trailing behind him.

Enter Yuta dressed in a clown costume while hunched over the grotesque remains of… Dongyoung can’t really tell. Not that he wants to, anyway.

And yes, that most definitely is Mark’s half digested BLT sandwich all over his floor.

“I think…” Dongyoung grunts a few minutes later as he sprinkles Borax all over Mark’s liquified lunch in his foyer. “You need to stop leaving dead bodies in my kitchen.”

Yuta emerges from Dongyoung’s bedroom, having finally ditched the slightly (read: extremely) terrifying clown’s costume in exchange for a simple black t-shirt and dark wash jeans. There’s a small blue pouch of wet wipes emblazoned with the CIA’s logo in his hand.

“I guess I could find a new place to take them,” Yuta agrees, tossing the handheld package in Mark’s direction. He then turns to Dongyoung with a puzzled look. “But how would I see you?”

Dongyoung bites back an affectionate laugh. Yuta is easily the cutest person Dongyoung knows (cuter than even Chenle, the kid that lives down the street). Even if he is a highly ranked literal human weapon.

“I don’t know,” Dongyoung hums, setting down the box in his hands. He turns to Yuta. “Move in?”

Dongyoung can hear Mark’s breath hitch in the background, but his focus is on Yuta as his eyes widen. It's almost comical, if Dongyoung is to be honest.

“You’re asking me to move in?” the assassin gapes with a sort of childlike wonder that reminds Dongyoung that he really is only 25 years old.

“Yeah,” Dongyoung nods, his smile growing. He no longer even register the pool of vomit at his feet. At least not until Yuta mentions it.

“I’d kiss you,” he starts, moving away from Mark. He glances down at the latter’s mess. “But you’ve got another man’s puke on your hands.”

Dongyoung snorts. “I’d do the same but you’ve got another man’s blood on yours.”

“Actually,” Yuta corrects, his tone light and joking. It works in harmony with his loving expression in a way that’s so _him_ , it fills Dongyoung with overwhelming warmth. “It was two and a half men this time.”

“Not that I’m paying attention,” Mark groans, wiping at his mouth. “But this moment was almost cute before the two of you ruined it.”

“I could have you incarcerated just for having seen this shit,” Yuta threatens, deadpan. “But I won't, because _we_ ,” he says, turning to Dongyoung with a knowing smirk. “Have very important business to tend to.”

Dongyoung looks down at Mark’s vomit. His gaze then travels to the body on his kitchen floor that still waits for the arrival of Johnny Seo’s cleanup team.

“ _After_ we clean up,” Dongyoung adds, shuddering at the sight of the mutilated bits of two and a half men that litter his floor.

“Or we could just inaugurate the shower?” Yuta offers, wiggling his eyebrows.

Dongyoung is a sucker for those eyebrows.

“Deal,” he shrugs, standing up.

He doesn't waste any time rushing towards his and Yuta’s _shared_ bathroom.

“ _Wait! Guys!_ ” Mark’s shaky voice calls after the two as they run, eagerly knocking into each other as they go. “Wh-what about the bodies?”

“Introduce yourself,” Yuta replies with a laugh once they've shut the door behind them. His shirt is already discarded. “They won't bite.”

Dongyoung smacks Yuta’s very muscular and very bare chest in response to the terrible joke. Yuta proceeds by hungrily pressing his lips against Dongyoung’s in a heated kiss.

“I hate you!” Mark cries and the sound is muffled by what Dongyoung assumes is one of his throw pillows.

“If it makes you feel any better,” Dongyoung offers, pulling away to remove his own shirt. “I love you.”

Yuta pauses, his hands hovering above the belt that holds Dongyoung’s pants in place.

“That _does_ make me feel better,” he grins before pressing a chaste kiss to the corner of Dongyoung’s mouth. “Now get naked before Johnny gets here.”

 

 

 

“You know, I could hear _everything_?” Mark reveals later, his cheeks dusted with a subtle shade of pink.

Dongyoung can't say that he feels bad.

 

**Author's Note:**

> LMAO hope it wasn't too weird...
> 
> also might do something Mark related in this verse??? let's hope I don't get writer's block for like a whole ass century again
> 
> peace out


End file.
